


The Kindest Thing (Is To Never Leave You Alone)

by Star_flaming



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Discussion of child abandonment, Established Relationship, Geralt doesn't believe he deserves nice things, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, canonical stuff don't worry, or rather that they won't stay, they love each other so much my dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_flaming/pseuds/Star_flaming
Summary: Sometimes, when Jaskier said he loved him, Geralt's eyes were veiled with disbelief. Which was fine, he'd just get to court him again to prove his point.Until he realized that Geralt didn't disbelieve his love, just his intention to stay. That was going to be harder to prove, it turned out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 539





	The Kindest Thing (Is To Never Leave You Alone)

**Author's Note:**

> This is saved in my computer as "Geralt's Got Abandonment Issues, Babey" which is really the thought I went into this with.  
> It's something of an exercise for me, posting this, because I haven't sat on it for ages rereading it to see if it's still good enough weeks or even months down the line, etc. I usually write my fic and then hoard it and never publish it, and this is part of an exercise in the idea that hey, I don't need to do that, I can just share things even if they aren't "Perfect."  
> Title is from The Rockrose and the Thistle by The Amazing Devil because...I mean, come on we all know why

Jaskier saw it in Geralt, sometimes. This translucent veil of disbelief that covered his eyes but didn’t stop the love in them from shining at him. And it confused him and worried him, once he started noticing it, because he couldn’t figure out what made it appear.

He didn’t notice it at first, because it didn’t show up immediately. When Jaskier had confessed his love and then danced away from the weight of it by saying it was nearly like courtly love and Geralt could ignore it and he’d never do anything about it, Geralt’s eyes had been blazing and sure. It started appearing later, when Jaskier started swearing he never loved anyone like he did the Witcher in his arms, which was really quite fair. He had loved a _lot_ of people over the years.

And even now, after months of sharing beds (and _sharing beds,_ Jaskier thought with a pleased smile), months of being allowed to kiss him close to whenever he wanted, months of freely saying “I love you,” that veil of disbelief still crossed those lovely golden eyes.

So Jaskier would just have to prove that he meant it.

It was like courting someone, it filled Jaskier with the breathless excitement of the…well chase felt wrong, here. He wasn’t _chasing_ Geralt, he was _convincing_ him. But it still had that same excitement.

He sang in taverns and inns until the last requests were made to see if he could get a little extra coin, and more than often he managed it, tucking it away. He found harmless frivolities that even Geralt couldn’t find a reason to shoot down to gift to his stubborn love. Plums and apples, things from orchards they couldn’t forage, good quality cloth for mending, dried fruit for their provisions, even expensive clove oil once, because it was an ingredient for the sword oil Geralt _liked better_ than the stuff he could buy, even if he didn’t admit it.

He presented the oil to Geralt when they were out of the town he bought it in, for fear that he’d demand he go sell it back. Under a sky that threatened rain by morning, Jaskier tossed the bottle at Geralt, saying, “I bought something for you.”

Geralt, of course, caught it and didn’t say anything, just unstopped it and took a careful sniff. He hummed in surprise, glancing back at Jaskier with the muted pleased surprise that went with every gift Jaskier gave. “Where did you get this?”

“Apothecary in the last town,” said Jaskier with a smile. “He uses it to mix men’s perfume, gave me a hard time about buying the raw oil until I told him it was for sword oil. _Then_ he gave me a hard time for thinking I could wield a sword. I suffered through twice the lecture I needed to for you, dearest.”

“Hmm. So you think you should be rewarded?”

Early on, Geralt, who was used to physical affection being a transaction, had a hard time accepting gifts without thinking they were essentially payment for access to his body. It had been difficult to work through as Geralt absolutely despised talking about his feelings and only sometimes admitted to having them in the first place. But they had gotten through that, and now the question was teasing and light and it made Jaskier beam and sidle over as he said, “It was quite the ordeal, my darling.”

“Was it?”

“Mmm. First he assumed I didn’t know anything about perfume mixing, and then that I don’t know anything about handling swords.”

“You don’t, though.”

“Well, I know how to handle at least _one_ sword.” He tilted his brows at Geralt, whose quietly wicked smile began to blossom out of one corner of his mouth. Jaskier could taste it when the Witcher finally kissed him in thanks and reward for the ordeal of getting the gift. It was too short, and he very nearly demanded more before Geralt said,

“It’s going to rain. Pitch the tent and we’ll see.” And then one finger laid itself on Jaskier’s lips as he said, “Not a euphemism, Jaskier.”

He couldn’t help it, he nipped at the finger before dancing away, laughing. This was the joy of playful courtship, of laughing with your beloved as you showed them your love, and Jaskier _loved_ _it._

Their tent was small, which only meant they had to stay close to each other – hardly a hardship on any account – and even without the promise Geralt had made more than one night tucked so close led to hands and limbs getting into interesting positions, all close tucked but no less enjoyable for having little room.

And afterwards, like this time, Geralt always liked to hold Jaskier, always gathering him in his arms and holding him close, nose tucked in his hair or in the crook of his neck, his sensitive nose happy at whatever he found there. And Jaskier was happy to be held, tracing patterns on his love’s chest or hands, depending on how he was held. That night, he was half sprawled atop Geralt, drawing the constellations on bare skin. He was halfway through the Lion when Geralt huffed and asked,

“Plan to make a star chart of me?”

“Oh no,” said Jaskier, voice mellow, “I think the tanner would have my head, trying to sell such blatantly scarred hide for parchment.” The resulting breath of laughter was quiet, but he felt it. Geralt’s breathing was starting to slow towards a doze when Jaskier adjusted, propping himself up and making the man lazily open his eyes. “Geralt, you know I love you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes like twin embers, warm and low.

“Only, sometimes when I say it, you don’t seem to believe me.”

“I believe you,” he assured, tugging Jaskier back down and letting him adjust into a comfortable position to sleep in before tugging him close again. “And…hmm. Me too.”

Jaskier knew his beloved sometimes had trouble saying it outright when they weren’t in the heat of the moment, and that was enough. Settling against him, and letting himself drift towards sleep, Jaskier couldn’t help but smile and say, “I know, dearest.”

One night’s sport, however, was certainly not enough to dismiss his worries about that veil of disbelief, and Jaskier certainly wasn’t going to turn down the chance to keep assuring Geralt of his love. He helped bind wounds and stitched them to help alleviate the scarring, washed his hair and brushed it until it was smooth and lovely, even bought a sturdy metal clasp for Geralt’s hair that wouldn’t be wrecked and deeply painful to wrench free when it got wet like his leather ties did. Which, after a selkiemore, was a noticeable difference, since it was just a matter of undoing it and wiping it clean, rather than the truly painful process of before.

But it was in the course of this playful not-quite-chase that Jaskier realized it. It wasn’t his promises of love that drew that veil of disbelief, it was when he made promises to stay with Geralt as long as the Witcher would have him, or when he said he was so lucky to have his Witcher and he’d never let him go. Any attempt at permanence made Geralt disbelieve him. And yes, so Jaskier had been willing to follow the spark of admiration, and maybe he had been a little free with his love, but he hadn’t tumbled in the bed of anyone else ever since Geralt’s became an option. Surely he knew he was true.

Right?

He still did his best to indulge his love, of course, but he didn’t play until the innkeeper tossed everyone who wasn’t staying out anymore. Instead he charmed vendors into taking down the price just a little which worked well until Geralt rolled his eyes at his flirting with the leatherworker into being willing to part with just one more needle than before.

“If you’re finished,” he rumbled, and he sounded amused, but Jaskier had been trying so very hard to give him no reason to doubt Jaskier’s love and faithfulness. This was a step in the _wrong_ direction.

That night, with the privacy the locked door offered them, Jaskier waited, strumming idly at his lute, until Geralt was done tending to his swords and scabbards, rubbing them down with oil and wax, respectively, laying them out unsheathed. That used to feel like a threat, until Geralt had explained that leaving a sword in its sheath too long could allow rust spots to form and leaving them in the air each night was the way he made sure that didn’t happen.

When they were set out, Jaskier set aside his lute and went to Geralt. His beloved looked surprised to have Jaskier climb into his lap, straddling him and twining his hands into white hair, but was happy enough to settle his own hands warmly on Jaskier’s hips.

“You know I was only playing today, don’t you?” said Jaskier. “With the leatherworker. I know it bothers you.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, you know, you _must_ know, even when I flirt like that, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You flirt like you breathe,” said Geralt, who was already nosing under Jaskier’s jaw.

“I haven’t been with anyone else since – _oh._ ” His sentence couldn’t continue, not with Geralt mouthing at his throat like that, and it took a lot of concentration to be able to say, “I may flirt like I breathe, my dear, but it’s only ever that. I wouldn’t leave you for a no name leatherworker in a no name town – _oh, darling…_ Oh, my dear heart, you know I love you more than anyone else, don’t you?”

“You love everyone,” accused Geralt, nipping at his collarbone, which was a very unfair move because it always made him melt.

“But you above all others. You know that – tell me you know that.”

He tugged fitfully at Geralt’s hair, needing to hear it, needing to see his eyes and see them clear of that horrible veil. Thankfully, his Witcher acquiesced, pulling away from his collar to pierce him with those eyes like embers, hot and dark and rimmed with gold. “I know it,” he said. “And you’ve been trying to make me believe it even more, recently.”

“I have,” admitted Jaskier, breathless equally from the path Geralt’s mouth had traced and from relief of seeing those eyes free of disbelief. “You know I would never leave you, yes?”

Tellingly, Geralt didn’t respond to that, and the veil drew across his eyes as he quieted Jaskier with a kiss. And really, it was infuriatingly easy to be lost in those kisses, and he let himself drift, but didn’t forget himself. Instead, when Geralt seemed happy to release his mouth, Jaskier pulled back, and pressed his hands against Geralt’s shoulders. It was a gesture more than anything, if he wanted to, Geralt could easily ignore his pressing hands.

“Geralt,” said Jaskier, not letting the kiss-red lips of his love distract him. “Geralt, tell me you know I’m not leaving you. I love you, I _adore_ you, I wouldn’t leave you.”

Geralt’s smile was more apology than anything else as he said, “Those aren’t linked, Jas.”

It was like cold water had been poured down his spine. It was true, to him, love and fidelity weren’t, necessarily, linked. Jaskier had loved hundreds of people but they had both known it was a mayfly romance, a love for one day and they’d part ways amicably. Geralt…wasn’t like that. When people propositioned Jaskier, Geralt would become sullen, almost self-deprecating, which usually meant Jaskier had an excuse to shower his affection on his lover.

And if Geralt, who was pained and saddened when there was even a chance Jaskier would go with someone else for the night (which, now that he knew Geralt’s careful and powerful attentions, was _never_ going to happen), was saying that Jaskier’s love and his intent to stay with Geralt weren’t linked…

“What are you saying?” asked Jaskier, pulling back. “Geralt, what do you mean?”

He tilted his head in the way he did, and said, “You love me, I know that. And I do, too. But that doesn’t mean you won’t leave.”

It was said so plainly, that horrible veil drawn back to reveal Geralt seemed to look at it like _fact_ that Jaskier wouldn’t be true. And it _hurt,_ but mostly it made him angry, and he snapped, “Well, I’m sorry you think so little of me.”

“Jas…”

“No, ever since this started between us, I have only ever been with you. I’m sorry that’s not enough for you.” He climbed out of Geralt’s lap and stepped away from his reaching hands, feeling suddenly very cold.

“Dammit, Jaskier, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what, pray tell, _did_ you mean?” Arms folded and standing between Geralt and the door, they were _having_ this conversation. And he would not be distracted from it this time by any large, warm hands or surprisingly soft lips anywhere on his person.

Geralt, when conversations like this had to come up, looked as deeply uncomfortable now as ever before. There was a long silence that he finally broke with a soft curse. “ _Fuck._ Jaskier…It isn’t _you._ ”

“Oh, what, ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ That has _never_ landed well, Geralt.”

“No. It…it isn’t _you,_ it’s how things are.”

“Explain that,” snapped Jaskier, his voice clipped as he could make it.

“Fucking…just because you love someone, it doesn’t mean you won’t leave them. That’s just…that’s how things are. The two aren’t linked. They’re separate things. You know that.”

Jaskier tried to wrap his head around that before he said, “Geralt, you love me. Does that mean you’re going to leave me? Am I going to wake up one morning and you’ll be gone and I’ll never see you again?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why?”

“Because you aren’t going to do anything that would make me leave you,” snapped Geralt, sounding like he very much wanted this conversation done.

“So what the _hell_ would you possibly do that would _possibly_ make me leave you?”

“How the _fuck_ am I supposed to know what will do it?”

“Why are you acting like it’s _going_ to happen?”

“Because it already has!” And then Geralt seemed to realize what he said, and dropped his head into his hands with a soft but heartfelt curse.

Things were swiftly falling into place for Jaskier, however. Someone had professed to love Geralt, even had him believe it, and then left him. “Geralt…darling…darling, what happened?” he asked gently as he could. He didn’t want to touch Geralt, sometimes forcing touch during a conversation that verged too close to being too much didn’t help, but he could at least assure him that fighting or not, he still loved him.

Geralt didn’t move, didn’t look up, and his voice was soft when he finally spoke, enough that Jaskier had to strain to hear it, and didn’t dare move closer for fear his footsteps would drown out the words. “When I was very small, I lived with my mother. I loved her, and she loved me. She told me so often as she could. And one day we went riding out in our cart, I don’t remember where we were going. She asked me to go fetch water from the spring off the road. When I came back, she was gone. I was taken to Kaer Morhen not long after, Vesemir found me at the side of the road.”

“Oh Gods,” breathed Jaskier, barely giving enough breath to it to count as saying it at all. The story he thought he could put together was wrong. This wasn’t a lover who cruelly left him and left Geralt guarded. No, this was a break at the base of being. If your mother could love you and still abandon you at the side of some anonymous road to be picked up by a passing Witcher, then why shouldn’t anyone else who ever claimed to love you be just as ready to leave you without warning? “Oh dear heart…”

He just about crashed to his knees in front of Geralt, hands reaching for him but unsure of where best to grasp him to convey what he needed to. “My dearest, my dearest, please look at me, please.” Slowly, Geralt did so. “My love, do you trust me?” Geralt nodded, looking a little uncertain. “You said that I would never do anything to make you leave me. Do you believe that, truly?”

“Yes,” said Geralt. “You’re damn annoying half the time, but I wouldn’t leave you.”

“Thank you for the honesty, dear heart. But Geralt, do you trust that I love you like you love me?” At Geralt’s nod, he continued, “Then do you trust that I love you the same way? That no matter what you do, I wouldn’t leave you? You’re not half as annoying as I am, dearest, why would I leave you before you leave me?”

Geralt didn’t look convinced, nor did Jaskier expect him to. Something like this would take far more than one conversation to heal, but he had plans to see it through. Whatever reassurances he needed to make, whatever acts of devotion he needed to perform, Jaskier was more than ready for.

If this was to be his charge in life, to love a Witcher so fully even parental abandonment couldn’t cast its grim shadow across their shared bed, then he welcomed it fully. He had already dedicated his career and by now his life to this man, why not throw his heart in for good measure?

Suddenly, despite the lovely promises Geralt’s lips had made against his neck, sex didn’t seem the best thing to do, at the moment. Instead, when the candle was blown out and they were laid in bed, Jaskier tugged Geralt until he could hold his Witcher, thread a hand through his hair and just hold him close, as if his embrace was enough to beat back everything that had ever hurt his darling.

He hated Geralt’s mother, he decided. He knew parents didn’t leave their children like that unless there was absolutely no other option, but hate didn’t care for things like that. She was lucky she must be long dead, because if Jaskier met her, he’d have no promises about how he’d react.

In any case, holding Geralt close was enough for tonight. He could start trying to mend what had long since been broken in the morning.


End file.
